


patience

by divinetock3



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Description of Violence and Scarring, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-03-17 08:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18961570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divinetock3/pseuds/divinetock3
Summary: jason is having a difficult time being vulnerable with the girl he loves.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> today's song choice is 'patience' by tame impala. i swear i dont purposely obsess over songs that happen to be the perfect title for my wip, truly. anyways! jason todd is.....a special one for me, my ride or die, husband, etc etc. GOD he's too good. likely more incoming, n it may be darker??? we love a little fictional tragedy.

It happens every so often: They will be fooling around, hands tangled in hair, her thighs enclosing his hips, his teeth grazing her throat—and he will stop inexplicably. [Name], pupils blown and lips swollen, never looking so beautiful, confused, gradually begins to understand that Jason isn't so simple.

Either her hands get too close to his sleeve or a sudden impulse will crash over Jason to push himself away before he loses control. The bliss is intoxicating, but Jason has been able to dismiss it in the past. He's had to. 

It's undeniably harder with her. She's warm and open to him; when their eyes meet, he knows she sees something in him similar to what he sees in her. There is no name for it, but Jason can feel it each day they're together. Shame wracks his body every time he needs to step away. She doesn't say much. He suspects she is ashamed as well. Or worse, wondering what is wrong with _her_.

The first time came in their second week dating. She was at the manor wearing jean shorts and a loose-fitting shirt that drove Jason wild, especially watching her thighs rub together as she paced around his room, taking in what few things he had. He'd stayed away, afraid to touch her because he knew he wouldn't be able to stop once he did.

She kissed him first. They fell onto his bed, Jason's legs dangling over the side, his hands framing her spine as she crawled over him. She was warm between his hips and Jason had squeezed the cotton of her shirt, a pathetic attempt at gaining control.

When her hand began to wander, Jason had focused so hard on where she was going that the kissing had stopped, replaced by heavy, hot breathing. When it reached the hem of his shirt, Jason sat up so fiercely that he had to snatch her up by the waist before she could fall backwards off the bed, a yelp escaping her mouth.

"I'm sorry," he'd said, panting.

Eyebrows drew together. "What's wrong?"

He loved her. Even concerned, even in a moment like this. The genuine panic on her face made Jason feel all the worse.

"It's a long story."

"Did I do something wrong?"

"It's not you," he promised. He means it every time he's had to say it.

[Name] is careful with him, sometimes too much. She touches him with caution, still unsure of what it was that had triggered an alarm in his head, the moment too long ago to casually bring it up and ask. They find a middle-ground where they kiss and kiss and kiss, and she hesitates before trying anything further. Tim cracks jokes when they slip away for the night and she plays along, but Jason often sulks behind her, wishing his mind wouldn't betray him anymore.

Three months in and her hand wanders again. Jason breaks their kiss to touch her shoulder, urging her away. It's instinctive and Jason hates himself when he sees the hurt in her eyes.

"It's me," he says, wanting that look to go away forever. "I'm sorry."

"Why do you always wear long sleeves?" He can hear in her voice that she's been wondering it for a while and has only barely gained the confidence to say the words out loud, a hesitant waver catching in her throat.

The idea of her thinking about him like that—so vulnerable, so small—makes Jason want to crawl in a hole. His head hangs in shame. He says, "I don't want to disappoint you."

She scoots in closer. Her hand rests on his face and when Jason lifts his eyes, he finds hers, love and care pouring through them. "What happened to you, Jason?" she asks. Worry flashes in her face.

"A lot."

Her hand moves through his hair, a lulling pace that makes Jason's eyes heavy. "I don't want to hurt you," she says.

"You never have. I swear. It's all me. I hate the thought of you seeing...who I am."

"Jay, you know I don't care-"

"How I look," he finishes. "But I do. It disgusts me."

Even Jason can taste the venom. She seems to be slapped by his tone and tears fill her eyes. The hand falls and circles around his, pulling it into her lap. She's so soft with him; Jason wants to throw something.

"Jason. Look at me." When he does, she says, "I hope you know, deep down, that you are not disgusting. Far from it, in fact."

"You haven't seen..." His words float into the air. He can't bring himself to grab them before they sail away.

"I don't have to."

Jason knows she cares, but he also knows that he will chase her away. Everyone he cares about either dies or leaves. He's not human beneath his clothing and it is his greatest fear for her to one day see him like this. She won't love him anymore.

"Only Bruce has seen me," he mutters.

She stares at their joined hands. He knows she's trying not to cry, but he pretends not to for her sake. She traces nonsensical patterns on the back of his fingers, over his knuckles, tickling his palm. She says, "I can wait. I will." Her eyes lift to his, but he's the one looking down now. "You can take your time and I will wait for you. I don't care how long it takes."

"What if it never happens?"

"We don't need sex to love each other."

Jason repeats the phrase to himself on nights when she looks particularly beautiful or when she passionately kisses him or when a couple in a movie fall into bed. His eyes wander to her every time, wondering if she's wishing it were them like he is, wishing he would hurry up.

But Jason takes his time just like she told him to. He won't let it chase her away. There's a lot of terrible things about him, he knows—no sex won't be the one that beats her down.

And it doesn't seem to. She doesn't mention it: not from fear, but because she knows Jason thinks about it often enough. Talking won't help. Jason needs to do this by himself and he's determined to because although they don't need this, he can't get it out of his head. Sometimes he wakes from dreams—fortunately when he's alone—and finds he's wet with excitement. He worries of one day waking up beside her like this and being unable to say no.

Five months with nothing. Tim still jokes, [Name] still plays along, and Jason still sits quiet.

One day, though, Jason loses control.

Through all of this turmoil, Dick and Barbara are planning their wedding. They have it at the manor—why bother anywhere else?—and the planning is extravagant. Jason can't say he blames them for the decision: The property is beautiful and close to nature; the forests are silent around the manor.

Weeks prior, Jason, Bruce, Dick, and Tim go out to buy new suits. As Dick is getting measured, making conversation with Bruce and the tailor, he glances up and asks across the shop, "Is [Name] coming, Jay?"

And Jason, wanting to appear like a normal couple, says, "Yeah." He asks her later that night.

Truthfully he didn't ask earlier because he doesn't want to see her in a dress. He's seen her in sweatpants and a ratty old t-shirt and that has been enough to drive him up the walls—admittedly, Jason doesn't want her to come to the wedding and destroy him.

The day of the wedding arrives and she drives herself there early and, of course, she comes inside and Jason can't quite breathe. The red of the dress burns brightly against her skin and despite some minimal eyeliner and a matching red lip, the rest of her face is clear and smooth, all natural. Her skin is glowing. Tim whistles and she blushes, curtsying, and Stephanie says something like, "You look so great," and Jason can only nod.

"He's speechless, kid," says Tim, clapping Jason's shoulder.

The moment they're alone she asks in a rushed whisper, "Is this fine?"

"Yes," he says through his teeth.

"I feel stupid for going all-out. Is it stupid?"

"No." Jason shoves his hands deep in his pockets. "Not stupid." He knows how goofy he sounds, but he really can't think straight.

Her eyes sweep over his own figure. "Well, you look..." She stops herself.

Jason understands. "You can say it, sugar."

"Hot," she admits. She blushes again, embarrassed that she is embarrassed at telling her boyfriend that. "Really fucking hot."

The day goes normally. Jason tries not to stare and she tries not to sit so close. They don't even dance, a wordless pact not to breach any boundaries. His only concern is that she isn't having a good time.

Roy comes over three drinks deep and kneels between their chairs, an arm over each of their shoulders. After saying hello, he burps in Jason's face and asks, "Why aren't you lovebirds having fun?"

"Roy."

"I'm serious. Go. Dance for me."

Jason clenches his jaw, moving to berate him, but then his thoughts clear. He leans backward to see past Roy and catches her eye. "What do you say?"

Her eyebrows knit. "What?"

"Dance," he says. "Let's have fun."

By the time they get out there the song is agonizingly slow and they sway in each other's arms. Jason pulls her close, resting his chin on her head as she tucks into his chest. As they turn, Jason catches sight of Roy giving an obnoxious thumbs-up. Jason flips him the bird behind her back.

No words pass between them. Two minutes in and Jason is shaking with nerves and irritation under Roy's gaze. [Name] is silent. Another wordless agreement.

Jason breaks the tension with a kiss pressed into her hair. It's an afterthought, really; Jason needs to show how much he loves her somehow and this seems like the safest way. But her head lifts and when their eyes meet, something seems to click.

They crash into one of the lower-level unused bedrooms, too preoccupied to go directly to Jason's. She's against the wall and Jason is gripping the dress in his hands, wishing he could tear it in two and forget the damn thing ever existed. Her hands muss up his hair, wringing and pulling. The tacky taste of lipstick fills Jason's mouth and he knows it must be everywhere, but he doesn't care—it only spurs him on more.

His hands fumble on her zipper, still unable to wrap his thoughts around what's happening. He feels drunk and momentarily wonders if Roy slipped something into his drink. But he's been intoxicated ever since she walked in looking like this.

She loosens his belt, the top button of his dress pants open, and when she slips his shirt out from underneath, Jason doesn't even think to worry. It's only when she hesitates, realizing what she's done, that makes Jason jump like he's been electrocuted.

"Jesus," he pants.

She buries her head in her hands, shoulders hunched. "I'm so sorry. It just happened. I didn't mean to-"

Jason shakes his head. "Don't blame yourself."

"I didn't even think to ask you if it was okay. _God_ , what is wrong with me-"

"[Name], please."

The use of her name makes her stop. She stares, wide-eyed. "I wish I could help." Tears threaten to spill over—the last thing Jason wants. He closes the distance and holds her wrists. She begins to cry as she says, "I wish you didn't feel so awful about yourself. I know this is your battle and it's none of my business—but I wish I could fight those demons, too. I hate that you've been hurt. I don't want you to think I'd hurt you, too."

"You never would," he whispers. His thumb traces over her cheek, wiping away the tears. He wipes away the wet trail down her neck as well. "I'm not scared of you. I just don't want to scare you away."

Her head vehemently shakes back and forth. "That would never-"

"I know, I know," he says. He presses his lips to her forehead and shuts his eyes. He wants to remember her warmth and the smallness of her compared to him as she tucks herself into his chest just like when they were dancing.

Jason's hand pats down her hair and before he can realize what he's saying, before he can stop himself, he tells her: "Bruce's enemies...I was taken by one once—for months. He battered me every day until I couldn't breathe. I didn't know my own name. I was collateral. I still have the marks to prove it. That's what I'm scared of." He's not quite breathless, but not at all there. He's never said the words out loud. It doesn't sound like himself.

She knows the basics of what all of them do and have done. Jason makes a point to hold her at a distance. He can't risk her finding things out, landing into trouble. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself for that; he'd never move on. He'd be worse than he already is, which is saying something.

She pulls away to look into his face. She's shaking like a leaf. "What happened to him?"

A muscle tightens in Jason's jaw. His voice is a flatline when he says, "Nothing."

A look passes through her eyes. She's crying harder, but the sound is silent, a dull string pulling on her chest. "I've spent nights wondering what happened to you," she says. "I knew you'd been hurt." Her hands cup his face. "I'm so sorry, Jason. I'm so sorry you've ever been hurt."

His hand touches her wrist, the thumb brushing over her pulse. "Give me a little more time."

She jumps on her toes and pulls him into a tight hug. His hands splay over the soft fabric of her dress where it grips her back. "I'll give you anything you need," she says into Jason's neck. 

They stand for some time, hugging, as her heaving sobs loosen into a few cold tears dripping down her cheeks.

Minutes pass—perhaps five, ten—before she pulls away. A small laugh breaks through her lips: a relief in Jason's tight chest. "You have some lipstick on your face," she says. She wets a finger and rubs at Jason's mouth as he breaks into a thoughtless smile.

She laces her fingers through his. "Here, let's clean you up."

She guides him into the conjoined bathroom and cleans off his face. She works on her own smudged work as Jason buttons up his pants, wondering what he's done to deserve such luck as she stands over the counter reapplying her eyeliner and lipstick. She wipes off the extra with toilet paper and tosses it into the trash.

They emerge from the bathroom anew. She loiters in the middle of the room. Jason knows why: he isn't ready to go back downstairs either. He hates being among a crowd; he'd much rather spend his evening alone with her.

Jason strolls to the window. Across the yard the party continues. He recognizes Bruce's salt and pepper head among the partygoers. Jason can see Dick and Barbara sitting at their table talking and sharing secret smiles. He doesn't see the others, but he can assume they're having the time of their lives. At least, he hopes so.

The window opens. Music pours through.

Jason extends a hand. "May I have this dance?"

She laughs, eyes crinkling. His smile only grows bigger.

She takes his hand and Jason pulls her in, jovially swaying to and fro, and she laughs harder. If any of the boys walked in right now, he'd kill them. She dances, too, albeit with a little more grace.

"Not too bad, handsome," she says. Jason spins her out, a yelp escaping her.

Reeling her back in, he dips her backward. She giggles helplessly with an open mouth, gripping his bicep, as her hair flies out and only a heel keeps her on the ground. Jason's pulls her back up like she's weightless and their arms extend out, pulling away and back in. They're both giggling now, twisting and singing poorly and enjoying serenity.

She spins away. His eyes get caught on the sway of her hips and how the dress brushes against her thighs. "Eyes up here," she says. Jason, flushed, follows orders and finds her smiling wildly.

Drunk, she jumps into his arms. Jason takes her with ease and spins her around. She screams out and holds tightly to his neck. He sets her down and she twirls to the music. Jason sways with dizziness and watches his girl dance away her despair, allowing himself this small amount of pure joy.

From that day forward it's easier for Jason to imagine being with her. Now that she knows what he's been through, Jason assumes she's imagining what he must look like under his clothing, concocting the worst image possible; maybe he'll look better than she's anticipating. It's a warmer thought than Jason has ever had about his body.

The day comes from nowhere. Nothing special happened to prompt Jason. He didn't wake up thinking it would happen that day.

A cold spell pushes through Gotham overnight, covering the city in snow. She comes by the manor and all of them take a day off, playing in the snow and chasing each other around the property, while Bruce attends business meetings in the city. After a long day, they head inside and warm up with hot chocolate by the fire and an old movie.

By seven, all of them are exhausted. Stephanie is the first to depart, then Jason and [Name] follow minutes later. Tim stays behind, passed out in front of the fireplace with an arm crooked under his head.

The sun set long ago. Jason's bedroom is a cave of darkness save for the television playing nonsensical sitcoms and the lamp in the corner. Dreary, Jason lays against the pillows with hooded eyes, waiting for some much needed sleep to take him. She lays tucked into him, a finger tracing over his chest in a lulling pattern. It all begins with a thought: _I wish I could feel her touch my skin._

Once the idea comes, Jason can't get it out. He daydreams of her soft hair tickling his chest during the night and her warmth tucked into his side, surrounding him in it. What would her nails feel like digging into his back? Her mouth tracing down his stomach?

"Sugar," he says before he can talk himself out of it.

"Hm?"

He lifts his shoulder. She catches the hint and sits up—albeit with a grumble. She looks as tired as he feels, but Jason won't ignore this sudden, rare swell of confidence. He doesn't think he could even if the house blew up right from under them. "Sit on me," he says.

A deep red pinches her cheeks. "Excuse me?" she says, trying to hide the wilt in her voice.

"Sit in my lap," he clarifies.

She obliges.

Jason sits up on his hands. He thinks of kissing her, easing her into it, but he doesn't want to delay this anymore.

He's numb with panic, so stressed that he can't even feel it anymore. His fingers hook under the hem of his shirt and before he can back out, he pulls it over his head.

A deafening silence. She is wide-eyed as she takes him in, the surprise heightened by how unexpected it had been. A hesitant hand reaches out and touches his shoulder. A particular starburst of scar tissue greets her touch. Jason is shaking as he holds himself up.

"Oh, Jason." She sounds breathless.

Her hands and eyes explore his torso: the burns on his biceps that still act up every so often, making it hard to hold anything so small as a pen; the slashing on his chest that are a mess of lines going every which way, either carved into a valley or raised into a mountain ridge; the cigar burns from the cronies that litter his forearms that, at the time, felt like nothing compared to what he was already being given; the stomach with an array of attacks left behind from multiple carvings and punctures that left Jason with no air; and the bullet wound in his hip from when he began to don the red mask that healed crudely with a purple tint.

Wiping silent tears away, she lowers herself over him, covering up his monstrosity of a body. Her hands hold either side of his face; he didn't realize he was tearing up until she kisses his eyebrow and a tear slides down the side of his head. "I love you," she says. He feels the gentle rub of her shirt against his bare skin and can finally breathe for the first time in months as she presses her lips to his.


	2. count the days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two weeks after opening up to each other, reader pays jason a visit at the manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sure what this is but i started playing arkham knight for the first time and i just hhhhhhhhhhhnnnnn. i want to write more for jason and i'm brainstorming ideas but uhh i'm having a bit of trouble, so if any of u have ideas....? second question: should i start a tumblr? just for u guys to share ideas, drop requests, and such? i think it could be cool, i've always wanted to be one of Those blogs that ppl go to so they can scream abt their faves, u know the ones. anyways enjoy this little blurb!! hopefully more to come for jason in the near future (and maybe i'll test out smut???) <3

The drive to Wayne Manor is one of [Name]’s favorites. Going from the chaotic bustle of the Gotham streets to the serene outskirts, populated by nothing but trees and glimpses of distant mansions. She turns up the music until she can’t hear her thoughts and commits every detail to memory. It’s like she’s stepped into a movie. 

The driveway is long and dense with foliage, sunlight glimpsing through and winking across her face, but eventually she emerges into a breathtakingly vast expanse of land, nothing but greenery as far as the eye can see. The romantic in her can’t help being mesmerized by the closeness of nature and the isolation of the outside world. Bruce and his hodgepodge family living in some semblance of peace, even for a little while. There might as well be a dome over the land.

She grew up learning and hearing about the infamous Wayne family. It’s strange, now, visiting the manor and forming bonds with its residents’. Especially Bruce. The surreality of the situation hasn’t quite settled in her mind and sometimes she has to stop and process that Bruce Wayne is now a person in her life, not just a name or face in the newspaper.

 _You get used to it_ , Jason had said once, and there had been a distinct sharpness in the way he said it that sticks with her to this day.

Her dismal car makes the trek up the gravel driveway with care. At the center sits a fountain surrounded by Grecian statues, the gentle babble of the water soothing as she emerges from the vehicle. She tilts her head back, surveying the several stories, and unable to help the wistful breeze in her chest. It’s still gonna take some getting used to.

The first time she went inside the manor, she was surprised to find how… _antique_ the aesthetics of the home were. She doesn’t have to ask why everything is so vintage and out of place in their modern times: portraits of the Waynes’ hang in more than one room in the house. Martha and Thomas Wayne are an everlasting presence decades after their tragic passing; it seems Bruce is a victim to their murders as much as they were. Ghosts cling to every surface. God, sometimes she really doesn’t like being here.

She rings the doorbell, hands wringing in front of her. Alfred is never not home, and so she expects an instant answer. 

As predicted, the door opens moments later and Alfred’s genial face fills the space. “Ah, Miss [Na—“

“You don’t have to be so formal, Alfred. I’ve told you that before.” Her face heats, and it annoys her that it does. She isn’t used to being handled so politely and it embarrasses her every time.

“Master Bruce is very persistent that guests be treated with respect.”

“Alfred, you have more respect in your pinky than all of us combined.”

Beneath his wispy mustache, she spots a quick smile. “I assume you’re here for Master Todd?”

“I am.” She steps inside at Alfred’s silent urging as she speaks, and the door shuts firmly behind her. “Is he in?”

She had sent a text before she left as a heads-up of her dropping by, but Jason never answered. It isn’t so unusual; Jason isn’t much for phones and only ever seems to respond in very drastic circumstances. Or with silly replies. Or out of the blue at midnight with a slyness that heats up [Name]’s cheeks for a very different reason. 

“Yes, he’s up in his room. If you’d like I could—“

“Who is—ah, look what the cat dragged in,” says a familiar voice.

A raven-haired man emerges from the foyer with an easy gait and an even easier smile that, just at the sight of, brings one to her own lips. “What’re you doing in Gotham, Dick?” she asks.

“Paperwork,” he says in a tone that is much too chipper considering the subject. “Bruce is following a lead from Blüdhaven and needed some insight. What brings you here?” There’s a teasing gleam in his eye as he crosses his arms, staring her down.

“Master Todd,” says Alfred, playing oblivious.

“You and Jason…How’s that going? I would say to tell me if he tries anything on you, but I’m pretty sure he could kick my ass.”

“It’s going well,” she says.

“Good. I’m rooting for you two.”

For the second time in minutes, her face is burning. 

Although she’s close with everyone in the family now, when she first came into the picture everyone was very standoffish and weary of the outsider trying to intrude on their dynamic. It’s a mystery why Jason, of all people, warmed up to her so quickly, but the other that took her in first was Dick. He made her feel like she belonged. It’s apt as he is oldest, but he truly is the kindhearted big brother for all of them to look up to. And once Dick won her trust, the rest fell into line. For that she will always have a soft spot for the man. 

“Thanks, Dick.”

“You’re a great couple. Don’t they look great together, Alfred? I mean, c’mon—at the wedding? You two suit each other. I’m grateful to see Jason so happy after—“ His voice trails off, but he catches himself and picks up talking so quickly that she almost doesn’t notice the hesitation: “—It’s great. Really great.”

“I appreciate it,” she says, aflame from the inside out. 

Ever a savior, Alfred says, “Is Master Todd waiting for you?”

She jumps on the opportunity. “Yes! Yes, he is. Sorry, but I gotta—“

“No problem. Hey, take care of yourself, alright? Tell Jason I said hi.”

With a small “Will do,” she escapes up the staircase and leaves the men behind. Where Jason is mysterious, [Name] is shy. Talking about her relationship with Jason never fails to reduce her to a giddy schoolgirl trying hard not to embarrass herself. She’s never had something like this with anyone; talking about it makes it all too real and she can’t help feeling overwhelmed.

It’s easy to get lost in the manor—doors look the same and hallways intersect—but the path to Jason’s bedroom is one she’d know blind. There have been countless times that she has walked this very passage hand-in-hand with Jason or hanging off his arm or, on one occasion, tossed over his shoulder squealing. Just the mere thought of these simple domesticities makes her heart flutter. It’s very rare to find someone where even the small, mundane things feel special.

She knocks on the door. Nothing. A second knock, and silence again. It’s perfectly normal, but she can’t help the small bout of nerves beginning to bloom at the pit of her stomach. Maybe she’ll wait downstairs or get Alfred to fetch him.

But—fuck it—she turns the doorknob, finding it unlocked, and peeks her head in. 

The room is empty. The bed is unmade and the TV is on, some cleaning commercial, with the shades drawn. Jason is relatively neat, so the floor is barren save for a couple stacks of books and old newspapers with ‘RED HOOD’ plastered on the front page in some form or another. It isn’t until she reaches his spotless desk that she hears the shower. She looks down the conjoined hall to find the light is on under the lip of the door.

Again, she is knocking. This time there’s a sharp, “What?”

“It’s me.”

“Oh, shit. Hey.”

She clasps her hands in front of her, hovering, and calls, “I’ll wait out here.”

As she’s approaching his bed, ready to collapse in the sheets and breathe in his scent, surround herself in Jason, she hears his voice call out over the din of the water: “Wait. You can come in—if you want.”

She considers saying no, a reflex. Although it’s Jason making the move, she hesitates to breach any more of his space. They’ve overcome so much in the past seven months and doesn’t want him to think that now that they’ve slept together once, he has to make leaps he isn’t ready for.

But he _is_ offering. And, truthfully, what pushes her to step in the bathroom is the thought of the water clinging to every inch of his skin. 

A blast of humidity hits her first. The mirror is fogged and steam seeps into her pores immediately. Jason’s clothes are tossed on the lid of the toilet. His boots, overturned on the floor, are scuffed and stained with mud. 

“Hi. Did you just get in?”

“I went for a run,” he says. “Alfred let you in?”

“Yeah,” she says, mind in another place as she steps closer to the pile of clothes. Long-sleeve shirt, sweatpants. People work out in heavy clothes to sweat more, it’s normal, but she can’t help thinking that even in a hundred degree heat, terrible humidity, Jason is always covered up. The lengths he’ll go to hide his body sends a sharp ache through her like nausea.

She sets the pile on the ground and sits on the lid of the toilet, fingers clasped between her knees. 

“How was your day?”

“Alright. Tiring. I was studying all this morning. I’m just glad it’s the weekend. I’m not in the mood for classes.”

“I couldn’t do it.”

She has a suspicion that Jason wants to. Sometimes he looks over her shoulder as she finishes essays or helps her to study. The way his eyes drink in the words, the delicate touch of his fingers on the paper, makes her wonder if Jason would trade places with her, even on her worst days. She could picture him in a lecture hall, pen between his calloused fingers, eyes up front. 

“You could,” she says, softer than she expected. “You’d be good at it.”

Jason doesn’t say anything. It’s not the first time she has hinted at Jason attending college. The only reason she keeps doing it is because of the silences from him: it means she’s not wrong. One day, maybe, he will.

“It’s hot in here.”

“Sorry,” says Jason. “It started cold.”

He’s just a disembodied voice, but she looks to the curtain, knowing that behind it he is vulnerable in a way he has only ever been with her. She wishes she could be spontaneous and jump in, but she can’t do that to Jason. He needs and deserves his space. If she jeopardized that, she would never forgive herself.

Feeling a little like she’s losing her mind, she says, “I think I’m gonna wait in your room.”

What makes her stop this time is the sound of the curtain being pulled back. His hair soaked, plastered to the forehead and dripping into his green eyes; the pale gleam of his shoulder, a slip of his collarbone lying exposed; his fingers curled around the curtain. She meets his eyes after the quick inspection. She’ll never not be so _enthralled_ by him. 

“Join me, sugar.”

Two weeks since they have had sex. It had been gentle and Jason held her like china. Jason hasn’t initiated a second time so she hasn’t either. But once the line was crossed, she can’t stop imagining what it would be like to go back. The warmth of his body hasn’t left her thoughts so easily.

The air seems to have left her lungs. “Wh-what?”

“Do you want to?”

Her mouth opens: yes, yes, yes. “Do you?” she asks instead. It’s soft, treading carefully.

Jason’s nod is firm. He’s decided. It’s hard to sway Jason once he’s settled on something.

She props her foot on the toilet and unzips her shoe, one and then the other, before tossing them aside. Jason, poorly hiding a smirk, retreats back behind the curtain. She’s thankful for it because she might explode if his eyes pick her apart with each missing layer. There’re things she’s insecure about too. 

Eventually she is naked in the middle of the bathroom. A silent peal of laughter bubbles up and she holds her hands over her mouth, calming herself. It’s stupid, really, that she still feels this way about being naked around Jason after dating for seven months, but this is so new to her. And despite the heat, a chill spiders down her spine.

She steps in the shower, heart racing and hands shaking. It’s more than big enough to hold the two of them, but she feels dwarfed by Jason’s broad size. So much taller and so much bigger than she’ll ever be. It makes her feel protected when his arms wrap around her and he guides her under the water. It burns a little and she gasps as it stings her skin. Jason turns the knob, making it warm, and whispering a sorry in her ear as he slips in behind her, his hands crossed over her belly. The closeness is already making her pulse erratic. 

The water is divine. She shuts her eyes to it, letting the water soak her. She hums, loving it, and leans back against Jason’s chest. “This is nice,” she says. Showering or bathing with Jason has always been a daydream, something she pictured late at night with a drunken smile, but it’s so much better because he feels so real, touching her belly and chuckling deep in his throat, the sound vibrating against her back. 

“You’re so soft,” he whispers, the heat of his breath at the shell of her ear causing a shiver. It doesn’t slip past [Name] that he’s deliberately hiding, standing behind her so she can’t get a good look, but this is leaps and bounds from how he was months ago. And yet…

Blindly, her arms slip back and around Jason’s waist. He’s keeping an inch between them. Carefully, she pulls him close until the line of his body is pressed to her back. The ridges of his scars are clear against her shoulder blades, but she basks in them.

“I want to feel you,” she says. 

Jason is silent, and a guilt begins bubbling up. Is this her forcing him? She considers explaining that she only wants him to be comfortable with her, that she doesn’t want to, at the end of the day, make him do anything he doesn’t want to—but maybe she _should_ be urging him to do these things—it could help him—

“Do you think less of me?” he asks, and she just about crumbles.

“Why would I ever?”

“That I…You saw what was done to me. When you see the scars and see me hiding, do you hate me for it?”

It’s like choking, hearing him say these words. Is this what sits and plagues his mind in those moments he’s quiet? Her chin quivers, tears threaten to spill, and she allows them to—he won’t notice under the shower-head—but she keeps a brave face. As much as he may hate them and she may hate that it means he’s been in pain, they’re a part of him. And she loves everything about Jason. 

“I could never hate you, least of all for something you couldn’t help.”

“I should’ve fought more. Maybe if I didn’t let him take me or I was smarter I could’ve—“

“Jason.” And she turns to look him in the eye. With his silken hair wet and the light stopped by the curtain casting shadows on his face, he looks about twelve years old. She splays her hands on the swell of his chest to steady herself, but mostly to steady him. “Thinking like this helps no one.”

“But—“

“What if it was me in your position? What if I got taken?”

Like a bullet has been shot, Jason’s eyes harden. Violent anger sits barely tamed in his face. “I’d do anything to get you back.” And from the way he says it, she realizes then that nobody found him. She finds it hard to believe that none of them at least looked for Jason when he was taken…but she never thought to imagine that maybe they never found him either…

“Would you see me as weak?”

“No.” It’s a hard no. Steel.

“Then why would I see you in that way?”

“I’m—“ His jaw tightens. “Gotham raised me. Bruce trained me. I was _Robin_. I should’ve known how to at least get out of that—or to even see the trap at all—“

“Don’t ever think like that. Never. If we spend our lives thinking of how we could’ve changed this or that, we’ll go insane. It happened. I wish it hadn’t, but it did, and you’re not the one at fault. You’re not the one to blame because of what someone else did to you. That’s not fair.”

“It’s hard. It’s how my brain’s wired.”

“You can work on it. You have your whole life ahead of you. And, like it or not,” she adds, and wraps her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his chin, “I’ll be here for you.”

Some of the pain slides off his face as Jason fights to hold down a small smile. “‘Like it or not’? How can you say that when you’re standing naked in front of me?”

She laughs, the sound reverberating off the bathroom walls. “Really though, Jason. I like talking. Like I said at the wedding, these are your demons and even though you alone have to fight them, I’ll be here. Cheering you on,” she says, and rolls her eyes at the cheesiness of the words. “You know what I mean. I’m here.”

Jason’s hand, so large, holds her cheek. “Thank you.”

“I love you.”

He shrugs a shoulder lamely. “You’re alright.”

She laughs again and shoves him lightly. His other hand comes up and he pulls her lips to his, whispering against her mouth that he loves her too. And she just about melts.

The water has cooled in the slightest, but enough for them to realize how long they’ve been standing there. Jason doesn’t seem to care. His hands fall to her waist and he bends low to press his warm lips to the side of her neck, his teeth occasionally grazing the sensitive skin. Her heart kicks, aware of the fact that her breasts are pressing to him and he’s squeezing her waist, trying to keep himself sane and grounded in reality. 

“We can stop,” she offers, although it isn’t as convincing when the words come out so breathy.

Jason reaches behind her to shut the water off. The sudden loss of it makes her huddle in closer, and he doesn’t seem to have a problem with that. “I don’t want to stop,” he says. “Do you?”

Jason is standing there with water droplets clinging to every inch of his body, his hair hanging in front of his eyes, and a wild, untamed look in his eye that she’s only had the privilege of seeing a handful of times. It hasn’t quite hit her yet that _she_ is the one who gets to see him like this. When he asks her that, she actually has to snort. “Are you kidding?”

The moment the words leave her mouth, Jason pulls back the shower curtain and guides her out, holding her hand so she doesn’t slip. Then, before she can get her bearings straight, Jason scoops her up bridal style. The squeal that leaves her is a tad humiliating. 

Jason shoves the door open and goes to the bed. She expects him to toss her on the bed, but he gently lays her down on the sheets, and then he stands up straight and gets a look at her. The urge to cover up is strong, but she stays where she is. As mortifying as this may be, it must be tenfold for Jason. And he’s made that leap—for _her_. 

Because when he’s standing there, naked, she can see all of him too. He’s a hulking man, well over six feet—he’s even taller than Bruce—and the line of his shoulders are that of a quarterback’s. In another life, Jason could’ve been star of the football team, straight-A’s, student body president. All of those things in life that she took for granted because she had them. For Jason, all of it is probably a faraway dream. She loves that he has Bruce and the others, but God, sometimes she can’t help wondering who he would’ve become if life had been kinder.

If _Gotham_ had been kinder.

“You’re so pretty,” she blurts out.

A look of surprise passes before Jason barks a laugh. It’s music to her ears. He lays a hand by her head and leans over, the shadow of his largeness hovering like a ghost. Subconsciously, her thighs open wider for him. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“I mean it.”

“Oh, I know you do,” he says. “You better be careful before this all goes to my head.”

She hooks a leg around Jason’s hip as his fingers creep up her thighs. “Last thing I need on my hands is a cocky Jason Todd,” she says, and then his touch reaches her wetness and teases deliciously. A sharp inhale through the nose keeps her from going insane, and it comes out in a shaky and rattled sigh. 

“What was that you were saying?” he asks, perfectly innocent.

“Sh-shut up, Jason.”


End file.
